


Snugglebug

by nonamenuisance



Series: Bright [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Ahaha the fluff is so cheesy help me please, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Character, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, POV First Person, POV Oikawa Tooru, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 06:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7672993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonamenuisance/pseuds/nonamenuisance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years of carefully arranging the many pillows on my bed so that when I laid down it would feel like there was a body holding me, if I only imagined hard enough.  Years of clasping my hands together before my eyes, wondering how it would feel if one was not my own.  Gently running my fingers up my arms, across my chest, through my hair, attempting to trick my mind into being soothed by the thought that the hands belonged to someone else.  </p><p>It wasn’t enough.  I couldn’t take it any more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Haikyuu!! or it's characters, and the opinions expressed by the characters in the following story are in no way necessarily representative of my own.
> 
> There is brief mention of a panic attack, but no details are given.

I can’t remember the last time I’d had any real physical contact with another human. It’s been years. As a very touchy person, it felt like I was dead, segregated, floating in a sea of isolation. I wasn’t like them, and I knew it. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t fit in. Blending in was impossible, yet no one noticed how, without the grounding feeling of contact with another, I questioned my own existence. I was unmoored from reality.

I stared at the phone in my hand. Should I make the call?

Touch—real touch, not just fingers bumping accidentally or those faint brushes with strangers on the street—was something I needed to feel alive. I was a starving man, and it was my food. Years of carefully arranging the many pillows on my bed so that when I laid down it would feel like there was a body holding me, if I only imagined hard enough. Years of clasping my hands together before my eyes, wondering how it would feel if one was not my own. Gently running my fingers up my arms, across my chest, through my hair, attempting to trick my mind into being soothed by the thought that the hands belonged to someone else. 

It wasn’t enough. I couldn’t take it any more.

I tapped the number on the screen, and held the phone up to my ear.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
That evening, Iwa-chan and I met at a bar that was in the perfect location. It was the third point in a triangle of five-minute walks, the other two points being the marketing agency where I worked, and the apartment building where Iwa-chan and I lived as neighbors.

The bar was dark and slightly seedy looking, but it was only due to age. Everything, even though it appeared worn down, was clean and wiped free of crumbs and spills. The only imperfection was that it was a non-smoking environment, which gave Iwa-chan cause to complain to whoever would listen, which usually ended up being me. Yet every Friday night, we would still meet up here after work, and he would get irritated whenever either one of us missed a week.

Work delayed me a bit, and so I was late in arriving. I had decided not to go home and change out of my suit like I normally would have, in order to save time.

When I slipped into the bench of our usual booth, Iwa-chan gave me a glare.

“You’re late, Shitty-kawa.”

I slid a finger under the cuff of my dress shirt and pulled it back to check my watch. The dim lighting in the bar made the soft hairs on my wrist glow a warm golden shade. I wondered what it would feel like to have someone else’s fingers brush across the skin there.

“It’s only fifteen minutes, Iwa-chan. Not a big deal. Work held me up.” 

He snorted and shoved a drink across the table. “I got your favorite.”

“Aw, Iwa-chan loves me!” I sang, dramatically placing a hand on my chest. The warmth from my palm felt odd, so I let it linger there.

“No fucking way,” he growled, leaning back in his seat. “That wasn’t an act of love. It was self-preservation. If I hadn’t, you would have whined about how mean I am.”

He was probably right, but I pretended to be offended at his comment anyway. He just ignored me, so I grabbed my drink with just my fingertips and took a delicate sip. It was perfect, as usual. The cream was thick and cold, blending nicely with the Kahlua and vodka. Iwa-chan kept telling me that I should switch to drinking something with less calories, that the cream would just go to my hips, but I couldn’t bring myself to try. Once I got into a routine, I stuck with it until I was forced to change, so until I went up a pant size, I would make no effort to change my ways.

“What was going on at work?”

I groaned. “I’d just forgotten! Why’d you have to bring it up?”

“That bad, huh?” Iwaizumi reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a cigarette pack.

“You put that back,” I pointed to the box in his hands “and yes. It was terrible.”

He grumbled under his breath, but put the smokes away. “Was it that new guy again?”

“Yes,” I moaned. “He’s too good! He’s gonna pass me soon, I know it.”

“Hey, you’re good too,” he said indignantly, as if offended by my lack of confidence. It wasn’t often I slipped up and let my façade crack. “I mean, you got that award last year, right? Best in Department? That’s nothing to sneeze at.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, but I work my ass off to be that successful. This new kid though, it’s like he’s not even trying. He’s just,” I paused “raw talent. It’s disgusting. He’s going to take my job. It’s just a matter of time.”

“Well then,” Iwaizumi said, lifting his glass of whiskey, “you’d better make the most of it while things last.”

I raised my glass as well. “Amen to that.”

We started chatting about all sorts of things, ranging from beetle collections to the latest episode of Dr. Who. Iwa-chan talked for a good long while about the party-loving college student renting the apartment below him. The kid always kept her patio door open, and since Iwaizumi would sit out on his for his morning coffee, he heard lots of interesting stories that he loved to share.

“—and it turns out they were roommates!" He smacked his palm on the table. “Can you believe it? Roommates!”

“Oh, Iwa-chan,” I tried to talk through my laughter, “if only your girlfriend knew how much of a gossip you were!”

His eyes widened comically before he lunged across the table and jerked on my tie, bringing my face close to his. 

“Don’t you dare tell her. Don’t. You. Dare. Shitty-kawa. She’d never let me live it down, not after I harassed her so much about doing the same thing.”

I hummed, pretending to think it over for a minute. “I’ll keep quiet if you go get me another drink,” I said with a smirk. It had been a rough day, and I felt like indulging a little bit.

Iwaizumi threw my tie back at me with a snarl and slid out of the booth. “Fine, but you’re not gonna come crying to me about stretch marks when all that cream makes you fat.”

I dismissed his words with a wave and a smile.

While he was gone, my thoughts wandered back to that phone call I’d made at lunch. Had I really done that? It seemed like such a stupid decision now. I thought about telling Iwaizumi later, but I knew what his reaction would be, and I wasn’t looking forward to it. Maybe I’d lead up to it, just to gauge his reaction without committing to telling him one way or another. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do, on the way home, I thought.

I saw black jeans slide back into the bench across from me, and looked up expecting to find Iwa-chan, but I was surprised with a stranger.

He had short black hair, matching eyes, and was clad in a dark leather jacket, with a thick silver chain stretching from a belt loop to his back pocket. 

“Hey handsome,” he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “You with that guy who was here a little bit ago?”

“No.” I sighed. This was a conversation I’d had many many times, and it never ended well. After a while, I stopped trying to be polite in the hopes that that would deter whoever had approached me. That usually never worked.

“Well then, you got any plans for the evening?” He smirked, completely ignoring my obvious indifference. He reached out and started walking his fingers up the back of my hand in an attempt to be seductive. That touch sent shudders down my spine and made every hair on my body stand on end. It felt so wrong, so disgusting.

I jerked my hand away, rubbing the area he’d touched to get rid of the crawling sensation. “No. Not interested.” 

He chuckled lowly. “Playing hard to get, huh? I like that. Let me buy you a drink, and maybe you can think it over? You had a White Russian before, right?” 

When I looked up in surprise, he smirked. “I notice things,” he said confidently. “My name’s Kai Nobuyuki, by the way.”

I just hummed and glanced around the bar, which had become much more crowded in the time since I arrived. Where was Iwa-chan? He was taking quite a while. 

Kai groaned. “Come on man, give me a shot. I’m trying here. You’re single, right?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m interested. I already said no,” I replied firmly.

“Really? I mean, I know I’m nowhere near as gorgeous as you, but I’m certainly not ugly.” Again with the smirk, although it wavered slightly.

“It’s not you, it’s me, okay?”

“What, are you ace?” He nodded at the black ring on my finger.

I nodded. I knew what he was going to say next. I knew it. Everybody says the same thing.

“Sure you don’t want to try? I might change your mind.” He winked and I bristled. Even though I expected the comment, hearing it never failed to upset me.

Before I could reply, a voice cut in. “I’m pretty sure the guy said no. Now fuck off.” Iwa-chan announced his return, placed my drink down in front of me, and shooed Kai out of his seat.

When we noticed that he hesitated in leaving, standing awkwardly at the head of the table, Iwaizumi gave him his signature ‘I-drown-kittens-for-fun’ glare, and Kai quickly scurried off.

“Sheesh dude, how is it you can’t go anywhere without people like that hitting on you? You hear what he said? ‘Maybe I could change your mind’” Iwa-chan mocked, changing his voice to a ridiculous pitch. “As if he’d be that good in bed. I mean really, how arrogant can somebody be?” 

I chuckled a bit at his antics. Iwa-chan always tried his best to cheer me up, even when I wouldn’t show him that I was hurting. As much of an odd bird as he was, he was a good friend, and I was lucky to have him.

As we walked home that evening, I brought up the topic that had been nagging at me all evening.

“Iwa-chan, did you know there are professional cuddlers?” I asked as nonchalantly as I could.

He snorted. “Seriously? That just sounds like somebody trying too hard to put a G-rated spin on prostitution.” 

“No, it’s a real thing! You meet up and snuggle, all clothing stays on, and hands stay away from all genitalia.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. “Sounds pathetic. Who’d ever be desperate enough to pay for that?”

Me. I would pay for that. 

I laughed loudly, grinning to keep the hurt from showing in my eyes. “Pathetic is the perfect word, Iwa-chan!”

Not only would I pay for that, I already did.

My pathetic self had hired a professional cuddler.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
A week later, my phone was blowing up with texts from an irritated Iwa-chan, demanding that I tell him why I was missing our weekly bar visit. I said that I was working overtime, to try to get ahead of the genius new upstart. 

That was a lie.

I was actually on my way to the apartment of a man named Sugawara Koushi, who I was paying to snuggle with me. The blush of shame had blossomed high on my cheekbones two days ago, as I fixed my hair for work, and it hadn’t left. It probably never would.

Iwa-chan was right, this was pathetic. How could I be so desperate for touch that I was willing to stoop this low? Standing outside of the apartment building, I thought about turning around. It was only $60. I wouldn’t get a refund if I just walked away, but it wasn’t like I was in need of money. I could drop the $60 easily.

As I turned to head home, I remembered my nightly routine with the pillows. I’d arrange them carefully, two body pillows stacked on top of each other, and lay down on my side with them pressed against my back. Another, standard size pillow would go between my knees, while a long and thin decorative pillow would be draped over my shoulder, across my chest, and tangle with my arms. I’d then pull up the blankets, using two more than necessary, to add extra heat in place of another person’s body temperature. 

_That_ was pathetic. More pathetic than hiring a professional cuddler, that is.

I started pacing. It’s not like I’d ever see this Sugawara Koushi again after this. So what if he sees me at my lowest point? Why would he care? He does this for other people too; it’s not just me. It’s not just me. There are other people who need this too—there have to be—for there to be as many professional cuddlers as I saw on the website. 

As I paced, I saw several couples sitting together outside the cafe across the street. They were exchanging touches so easily. Fingers brushing lips as they fed each other, feet stroking up legs, hands tucking hair behind ears. I wanted that. That sort of casual intimacy with another person. Why was it that every touch was so strongly tied to sex? Platonic intimacy simply for the sake of comfort and companionship had become so uncommon and I hated it.

With those thoughts in mind, I put on my million-dollar-smile and strode confidently through the lobby door.

And felt the beginnings of a panic attack in the elevator.

I managed to stitch my rapidly crumbling mask back together right as the doors slid open.

It had taken me a while to get ready this morning. I usually was finished with what Iwa-chan mockingly called my “primping regimen” in a little over an hour, but today I had woken up early, and took close to two and a half. I don’t even know why. I didn’t look any different even with that extra hour. If anything, there were dark circles under my eyes from skimping on my beauty sleep.

I wanted to look nice though. It was irrational and I knew it, yet feelings didn’t obey the laws of logic. I had spent what felt like forever inside my closet, sorting through dress shirts, ties, and watches. I carefully matched my lavender alien trouser socks with my shirt and wristwatch, I picked my most polished pair of oxfords and a belt made of the same black leather, and chose a new black suit that I had yet to wear. I ultimately decided that a tie would just obstruct my already constricted airway, and so I left the top two buttons on my shirt undone. Then I put just as much care into picking comfortable loungewear for my appointment with the cuddler after work. 

Those comfortable clothes were tucked neatly into my briefcase, and I could feel the heavy weight of them throughout the day.

As I walked out of the elevator, I swear the weight doubled.

Sugawara Koushi’s apartment was, unfortunately, too easy to find. I cursed the well-marked hallways and doors for leading me right here. I stood there, facing the door, double and triple-checking the number screwed into the wood against the one written on the scrap of paper in my hands. There was no doubt about it. I was in the write place.

Taking a few deep, steadying breaths, I slowly raised my hand and knocked. There was no turning back now.

After a few seconds, I heard a thump before the door opened, revealing the angelic man who would be cuddling with me for the next hour.

Brushing some gray strands of hair from his sparkling eyes, he looked up at me and a strange expression crossed his face. It was unreadable. 

Great, I’ve screwed up. My mind was racing, trying to figure out how exactly I could get out of this now. Just bolting was starting to sound like a good option, but I knew my knee wouldn’t be up for it.

“Ah, hello there! I’m Sugawara Koushi, but please, call me Suga,” he said. I liked the sound of his voice. It was light and melodic; comforting. “You must be Oikawa-san?” 

“Um… yes?” I cleared my throat, hoping Suga hadn’t noticed how my voice cracked. 

He just smiled gently, and I was fascinated to notice that he had a beauty mole beneath his left eye. I found that staring at that was easier than making eye contact.

“Please, come in. Leave your shoes by the door.” He extended his arm, gesturing towards the room behind him.

I slowly obeyed, and finally took in what he was wearing. A pale peach colored shirt with a shrimp on the front and gray track pants. He was barefoot, and there was something startlingly intimate about seeing his long toes and the few faint silver strands of hair sprouting from the tops of his feet.

“You can change in the bathroom here—” he pointed “if you brought something, that is. I have extra clothing in all sizes for the clients who forget.”

“I—I brought stuff!” I held up my briefcase awkwardly, both as proof and as a shield between myself and Suga. Usually I could fake my way through uncomfortable situations, but something about Suga made it impossible for me to hide. Those eyes of his, they left me feeling like he could see my very soul.

He smiled gently again. “Ok, well you go and change, and then we can talk about a few things before we get started.”

I made a hasty retreat into the bathroom. Talk about a few things? No! There was just supposed to be cuddling and that was it! No _talking_ about things. If I’d wanted someone to talk to, I would have gone to Iwa-chan. The only reason I’d even thought about doing this was because I was under the impression that a complete stranger would not care to _talk_ to me at all!

In a miserable attempt to stall, I very slowly changed into the clothes I brought. All my comfortable clothing was either alien or Nasa themed, and so I had settled on the least nerdy set I could. Looking in the mirror now though, I felt like that had been a bad choice. I should have just bought something new and normal. Instead, I looked like a dork in my black pants with the Voyager 1 printed on my hip and the smiling alien making a peace sign with long green fingers across my chest. I groaned, folded my work clothing carefully, and stepped out of the bathroom.

Suga was waiting patiently on the sofa, with that gentle smile. I’d taken way too long in the bathroom, but he didn’t say anything about it. At his gestured invitation, I gingerly sat down across from him.

“So before we get started, there’s a few things I have to run through with you,” and Suga went on to softly explain the boundaries for our cuddle session. No kissing anywhere but the top of the head and foreheads, no hands come in contact with the crotch area, no rubbing off or feeling up… all very obvious things that had been listed on the website, and that I had no intention or desire to do, but I understood the need to make those rules clear again regardless. He asked if I had any questions, and when I said no, he stood and led me to the bedroom. Before we went in though, he turned to me and paused. 

“Once we get situated in the room, there is no talking allowed until the timer goes off, alright?”

His eyes didn’t leave mine until I nodded. He opened the door.

There was a large, king-sized bed in the center of the wall, comforter folded down and flanked by two wide window. If it had been daylight, I would have been able to see the park outside, but instead there was just the steady, soothing hum of passing cars. The room was simple, with few decorations. Everything was either light peach, baby blue, or off white. It was a very calming color palette, I thought. I’d have to keep the combination in mind for if I ever redecorated.

Suga unhesitatingly climbed onto the center of the bed. “So,” he turned and perched on his knees, making a dip in the pastel sheets and giving that soft smile again. “Which position would you like to lay in?”

My fingers immediately wound themselves together. “Um…” I whispered. “Can we… spoon?” I could feel my face flush brightly.

Suga’s smile only grew though, and I noticed that the mole disappeared when his eyes crinkled. How adorable. 

“Of course! Would you like to be the big spoon or the little?”

I thought back to my nights with the pillows. “Little,” I answered, without stuttering this time.

He nodded happily and patted the bed. “Come on, I won’t bite you! You get settled comfortably while I set the timer, and I’ll join you in a second,” he said as he leaned over to the phone laying on the nightstand.

I did as he said, and curled onto my side with my back to Suga. The bed was soft, and I could feel some of the tension in my shoulders drain away. 

Until I heard the bed creak, and felt Suga’s warmth pressed up against my back. I almost jumped out of my skin. He pulled away, and whispered an apology, before closing in again, this time tucking his arms into comfortable positions, one above his head, and the other wrapped around my torso. 

Even though the position itself was fine, I felt incredibly uncomfortable. I was so far out of my element. Platonically touching someone. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this. 

It felt so strange, yet I knew it was right. Sort of like someone dying of thirst, who had no memory of water, taking his first large gulp of the mysterious yet life-giving liquid. That analogy was off though. As I thought harder, the awkwardness faded away and I began to take comfort in the grounding feeling of someone else existing right next to me. That was it! Snuggling with Suga felt like being an astronaut, having been alone in space, floating without a tether, finally being rescued and brought back to earth. Suga was the gravity keeping me from floating away again. 

As we lay there together, my eyelids grew heavy before ultimately sliding shut.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
I woke to Suga gently shaking my shoulder.

It was a wonderful feeling. I wished it wouldn’t end.

Unfortunately, it did.

We slowly got up, and made our way out of the bedroom.

“Can I make another appointment?” I blurted out, all thoughts of awkwardness gone after being held for an hour.

Even though I was disappointed that I'd slept through a good portion of the session, I still felt better than I had in years. My smile wasn’t fake, or tinged with sadness for once. There was a slight spring in my step. Suga’s touch had refreshed me; made me into a new man. 

Suga gave his biggest grin yet, the folds of skin around his eyes completely obscuring the little mole from sight. 

“Of course! You still have my number, right?” He asked.

I did, and I had already decided what nickname I would save it under. Mr. Refreshing. It was perfect.

We scheduled another session, same time but on Thursday, before I paid him, changed clothes, and went on my way.

I could hardly wait until the next time I saw Suga.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love some feedback! You can also find me on Tumblr at Theraven4597.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahaha, this is such a weird feeling. I've never updated a story this fast...
> 
> Also, it was mentioned in the previous chapter, but more detail is talked about it here, so I'll explain for those who don't know. A black ring can be worn on the middle finger of a persons right hand as a symbol of asexuality.

“That’s just false advertising; looking that good but not letting anybody do anything about it.” The man snarled before storming away.

I sighed. False advertising, huh? Was it really? Sitting alone in a bar, still dressed up from work, most would assume I was looking for a quick hookup. Was it wrong of me for not wanting that? The words of my ex floated to the front of my mind. _Broken, childish, unfeeling, inhuman…_ was I really? Was he right?

I dug a blunted thumbnail into the dark grains of wood on the table before me. Iwa-chan wasn’t coming tonight. It was Wednesday evening, and I’d slipped past his apartment door without him noticing. That decision was one I regretted. I was beginning to understand his frustration from all those weeks ago. Not having company at a place where you had come to expect it was an unsettling feeling. It was wrong. 

Well, _I_ would feel wrong regardless of whether he was here or not, but his presence might have been slightly comforting.

It had been three months since I’d made my first appointment with Suga. We had been meeting regularly Thursday evenings since and cuddling. For three days after each session, I felt wonderful, whole, alive. Then the high crashed. I returned to my ghostlike state, invisible amongst the humans, floating along, existing alone. Sometimes I wondered if that was true; if I really was completely alone on this planet. Maybe everyone else I saw was just part of a hallucination my mind conjured to help myself feel less alone.

I’d become addicted. Addicted to Suga, addicted to his touch, addicted to the undeniable proof that another person existed, and was existing right next to me.

Addicted to his personality too. To that little mole that played hide-and-seek in time with Suga’s emotions. To the lilting, musical sound of his voice. To the warmth that radiated steadily from his smooth skin.

After two or three sessions I think it was, he confided in me that I was always his last client on Thursdays. He’d then asked if I wanted to stay for a cup of tea. I’d declined, but he repeated the offer the week after that, and the week after that. About a month ago, I’d finally taken him up on it.

He’d made a pot of lavender chamomile tea and poured me a glass. Not wanting to be a bother, I didn’t ask for cream or sugar since he’d made no move to offer them. 

It was awkward, which wasn’t a surprise. We’d had a good thing going; I come, we cuddle, I leave. But now, Suga had changed our pattern. He’d flipped our routine on it’s head, and thrown everything out of whack. There was no precedent for how I should act.

Once I’d taken my pace on one sofa, he’d sat down across from me. We’d stared at each other, each hesitating to make the first attempt at conversation, when I’d taken a gulp of the tea to hide how uncomfortable I was and burned my tounge. 

Suga had found that hilarious, and I discovered that his laugh was just as breathtaking as the rest of him.

Conversation flowed smoothly from that point on. He never asked why I paid him to give me basic human contact—the fact that I was his client was never even was approached. Instead, we talked about careers and hobbies, dreams and ideas. I was surprised to find that he was six years younger than I was at twenty-seven, although no matter how old he claimed to be, I would have been surprised. Suga had struck me as an ageless being, timeless and immortal. But in reality, he was fresh from university, having majored in creative writing, and was working hard on creating a novel. 

I asked how he got into professional cuddling, and he said it was through his roommate in freshman year.

“He was a really shy guy,” Suga had said. “It was lonely for him at college, and we’d been friends since high school. He started climbing into my bed at night, just seeking some company, and it never bothered me. Once I realized how much it helped him, I realized that I loved it. He told me I was good at it too, so once I realized that some people do it for a living, it made sense for me to try too. It’s nice,” he had paused then, “it gives me a source of income for while I’m working on getting my book published, and it’s something I can do to help people. Feeling the tension leave someone’s shoulders as I hold them—seeing how relaxed they are afterwards, it’s magical almost.” He had grinned at me, the mole had vanished, and I felt my heart skip a beat.

As it turned out, Suga and I had a bit in common. We had both played volleyball in high school, the same position even. He explained that he knew me from my college career in the sport; apparently he had been a fan of mine while in junior high. He delicately avoided mentioning my accident in the national tournament where I’d torn every ligament in my knee at least partially, thoroughly ending my career. The coverage of the story in the sports magazines had been huge, so I knew he knew, but I appreciated his tact nonetheless.

I learned that his favorite novelist was Philip K. Dick, and I silently resolved to read everything the man wrote. I chuckled, thinking back on that. I had indeed tried out several of the books, but they had all put me to sleep. 

Another thing I had noticed about him, was that he had several little moles scattered on his forearms, one hiding behind his ear, and two on his neck. I couldn't help but wonder if he had them other places too, and if they were all as adorable as the ones that were visible.

Suga also had a strange affinity for spider plants. There were a dozen scattered around the living room, varying drastically in size. I had never noticed them until I spent time in there. I mentioned this to him, and he had excitedly stated showing them to me, informing me of their names and which one had spawned from which. When I teased him about talking to them, he got playfully defensive, explaining the science behind why talking to plants is actually beneficial to their health.

It was adorable.

Last week, he had given me one. Said that he had so many that he was running out of pots, and that taking it would be a big help. That was when I had realized; I couldn’t refuse Suga.

It only made sense. A beautiful and kind-hearted man giving me the physical affection that I so desperately craved, it was inevitable that I would fall for him. I hadn’t yet, but I could tell that it wasn’t long until I was past the point of no return. When that day came, I would have to stop visiting him. It wouldn’t be right for me to continue to pay him to cuddle with me while having feelings for him. Even if by some miracle it didn’t hurt me, it would certainly hurt him and his comfort in performing his job with the other clients he saw.

Letting out a sigh, I glancing at my watch and saw it was getting rather late. As I stood, I felt an immediate rush to my head and the floor tilted slightly. I had planned on walking home tonight, but drinking three White Russians definitely hampered my ability to walk in a straight line. Slowly making my way out of the bar so as to not run in to anyone, I wove my fingers into my hair, brushing it back from my face. I’d always had a thing for hands running through it, whether those hands were my own or someone else’s it didn’t matter too much. Suga had picked up on that during our third or fourth session together, I can’t remember exactly, and since then his slender fingers wouldn’t leave my hair alone, constantly carding through it, twirling a strand or two around a knuckle, tugging ever so gently… It made my bones feel like melting butter and I practically oozed onto the bed. Sometimes I wondered if Suga’s hands would really turn my body to liquid and I would just seep into his mattress where I could hold him every night forever. It didn’t sound like too bad of a possibility, if I was being honest with myself.

I was able to quickly wave down a cab, and upon climbing in and giving my address, I leaned back to try to figure out what music was playing. Much to my dismay, it was the pop station. I hadn’t listened to the pop station in three years, not since I broke down crying in the car on the way back from a visit to my sister and her nephew. Every song, every damn song was about sex and lust. I didn’t understand any of it, and having it pounded into my head for over an hour that I was not like everybody else eventually led up to a meltdown. The tears were coming so fast that I’d had to pull over, otherwise I would have hit something. Thirty minutes later, I had finally dried my eyes and after I managed to find a station that played only classical music, I was able to pull back onto the highway to resume my drive home. 

That was my last time listening to pop music.

From the broken lyrics I could pick up over the road noise, I could tell the genre hadn’t changed a bit. 

I looked out the window and tried to escape in my thoughts. The streetlamps went by with a whoosh, rhythmically lighting the interior of the car before we moved further and were cast into darkness again. Light, dark, light, dark, over and over. I was looking forward to seeing Suga tomorrow. I was nervous too though. The warmth in my chest that blossomed whenever his face came to mind stemmed from more than just friendship, and the thought terrified me. I had already thought about stopping my sessions now and inviting him out for coffee, but that idea was even scarier than the nebulous mess of feelings inside me. Relationships were terrifying things.

My last—and only, but I didn’t like to think about that—relationship had not gone well.

It had started out smoothly; we’d met through work. I had been providing marketing services for a client, and he was that companies ambassador to explain to me what exactly they required and expected from me. We’d hit it off well, and he had invited me out after the contract was fulfilled. 

We got along fabulously. I had been concerned at first, and had decided on coming out on our first date, just to save myself from getting my hopes too high if he couldn’t handle it.

He said that he would try.

I should have known.

To him, _try_ meant wait a month and a half, then start complaining about how he’s a _man_ and how he has _needs_ and that it was my _duty_ to help him out.

I tried. I really did. And I failed. Every time. As soon as his hand would reach the fly on my pants, I would be squirming away and across the room as fast as possible, fighting my hardest not to attempt to climb out of my very skin at the thought of him touching me there in _that_ way.

I kept trying though. I loved him, and I wanted desperately to make it work. He finally got fed up and left, though not without giving me a piece of his mind.

When Iwa-chan asked why the guy was no longer hanging around, I told him I dumped him. Even made some stupid joke about him not being pretty enough for me, all because I couldn’t admit the truth. There was no reason to anyways; I knew what Iwa-chan would say if I told him. He’d tell me it’s not my fault. But it was. If only I was like everyone else, I wouldn’t be alone.

The cab stopped in front of my building, and the driver told me the trip fare in heavily accented Japanese.

I quickly sorted out the amount, giving him an unusually generous tip before heading up to my apartment. It took me a little while to fiddle through my key ring. After shoving it in, I pulled the knob back as I turned the key, and delivered a sharp kick to the bottom half of the door. No matter how many times the landlord sent a repairman, my door would always stay finicky. Every time the repairman came though, the routine to open it would change slightly. Ultimately, the landlord offered me a slight discount if I would just put up with a tricky door and I accepted. 

It was dark inside, with only the glow from the tv lighting the room. Iwa-chan was sitting on my couch, watching some action film, wearing nothing but a pair of loose basketball shorts. With a quick glance at my dining room table, I confirmed that yes, he had thrown his worn-out Godzilla t-shirt there, presumably immediately after breaking in to my apartment.

He looked up and gave a brief wave before returning his eyes to the screen. One of his loud friends had broken his tv by launching a wii remote into it while trying to bowl, so he had been coming over to my place whenever he was bored. Apparently his laptop was not good enough to bother watching something on. As much as I threatened to take his key away, I didn’t really mind. His company was always nice.

After changing in to my loudest pair of alien pajamas in a vain attempt to improve my mood, I plopped down on the other end of the couch. Iwa-chan had one of his Bourne movies playing.

“You’re actually going to join me?” He asked incredulously. “I thought you hated movies like this.”

“I do,” I sighed, “but Matt Damon is beautiful, so I make exceptions for him.”

Iwa-chan simply hummed in response. 

The alcohol running through my veins made me bolder than I would normally be. I sprawled out lengthwise across the sofa, resting my head in Iwa-chan’s lap. His knee was warm, and I didn’t even try to fight the temptation to rub my cheek into it.

“Hey, get off me.” He jerked his leg.

I didn’t move.

His hand smacked the top of my head. “I’m serious, Shitty-kawa. This is weirding me out. Quit touching me, man.”

It was weird, touching me? How could Suga tolerate it then? He never seemed to complain, but maybe that was just because I paid him. That fact slipped out of my mind all too often. I paid Suga for his company. He didn’t touch me because he wanted to.

Iwa-chan shoved my head off his knee, and I almost fell off the sofa.

“What the fuck, dude? What’s wrong with you?” He grumbled.

Nothing. Everything. I didn’t know, exactly. I wasn’t human, but I wanted so desperately to feel like I was. I didn’t want to feel alone anymore, and I had thought Iwa-chan’s touch would help with that. How stupid.

“I was just wondering if he would be even prettier sideways.” I let out a laugh, pointing at the screen.

Iwa-chan rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Well, don’t do it again. It was weird. Why don’t you lay upside-down? See if he looks good like that too.” Iwa-chan hadn't looked at me. If he had, he would have been able to see right through my lie.

How was it that, as bad of a liar as I was, only Iwa-chan noticed, and even then only when he could clearly see my face? I blurted out the most ridiculous things when I was hurting, but everyone just accepted it as me having a quirky personality. No one stopped to question that maybe I was stuck in a tug-of-war with myself; one side of me desperately screaming for help while the other, more prideful side, was determined to put on a fake smile and fool the world. I wanted help, but I didn’t. Wanted to talk to someone, but I didn’t. Wanted someone to understand, but also wanted to save myself from feeling that uncomfortable exposed feeling that comes with being vulnerable.

Damn my stupid pride.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Suga opened the door, dressed in his pajamas as usual. I had never seen him in street clothes. This time, his whole outfit was lavender, which was my favorite color. Even if it hadn’t been, it would be now, after seeing how well it complimented Suga’s pale complexion. 

“Hey Tooru!” We had dropped the honorifics and switched to first names a few weeks ago. “Come on in, ok? I just have to finish watering my babies. How’s yours doing, by the way?”

I stepped in and toed off my shoes. “She’s doing well, thank you! I think she’s starting to grow a… I don’t know what they’re called, but the white stem where it will sprout new plants? One of those.” 

Suga tried hard to look scandalized. “Tooru, how dare you call your baby an it! She is a beautiful girl, and you should be more polite.” A grin finally slipped through. “Those are called spiderettes. Isn’t the name adorable?” He was practically gushing now.

I agreed, and we made our way back to the bedroom. Things subtly shifted around in there; nothing was quite the way I remembered it. The sheets were a light gray this time, and I could hear the rain from outside, accompanied by the occasional thunderclap.

Suga dimmed the lights down a bit, leaving just a lamp on in the corner of the room opposite the large bed.

Without waiting for him, I climbed on into the bed and stretched out on my back, spreading my arms wide above my head. 

“Any particular position today?” He asked, as he followed me onto the mattress.

I shook my head. “As long as I can stay like this, I’m good with however you lay.”

Suga nodded and curled on his stomach under my arm, gray head resting on my chest directly over my heart. One arm was tucked snugly against my ribcage, while the other extended across my body and latched onto my shoulder. My arms instinctively wrapped around him in return, and I placed a butterfly-kiss to the top of his head. The weight from his body felt amazing.

I had never been able to figure out exactly what Suga smelled like. He always smelled the same, but some days I could swear it was chamomile tea when the week before it had been wildflowers. His scent itself never changed, but the image it called to mind did. I wondered how that was possible. Maybe it had to do with my mood? Or his mood? Or it was just all in my head and I was idolizing Suga and it was going to come back to hurt me?

That was the most likely scenario.

He must have felt me stiffening slightly at my unpleasant thoughts because he moved the hand on my shoulder up to wind into my hair. I almost moaned, it felt so good.

With his fingertips massaging at my scalp, it didn’t take long for my thoughts to become muddled and hazy. Floating along, drifting in and out of my subconscious, I wondered if this was what that post-orgasm high people praised so highly felt like. Who knows. Regardless, I seriously doubted that it could possibly be better than holding Suga and being held by him in return. Nothing could be better than this.

The rain added a new level of intimacy in the already intimate atmosphere. It was tapping steadily at the windows, and I imagined the way I was certain it looked. The little droplets collecting on the glass, glowing iridescent from the city lights outside. One drop get to heavy to stay suspended and finally, after holding out as long as possible, would dart downwards, merging with some of it’s brethren and picking up speed only to pause inexplicably in it’s path and wait. Whether it was waiting for another raindrop, or it just didn’t feel like falling anymore, I didn’t know. It didn’t matter though. I envied that raindrop. It could stop in it’s fall, where I couldn’t. I was falling for Suga, and I couldn’t stop myself. 

Birdsong erupted from his phone resting on the night table, signaling the end of our session. Time had passed much quicker than it had during all our previous meetings.

He rolled off of me and turned it off, but rolled right back onto my chest before I could sit up. 

“Suga?” I asked hesitatingly.

“There’s… something I need to tell you.” He whispered, nose brushing against my chest.

“Ok,” I drawled out slowly, my voice just as soft.

“I got a contract with a publishing agency. They like my book, and even agreed to pay in advance for a sequel.”

I didn’t understand why he would be so hesitant to tell me that. “That’s fantastic! Congratulations, Suga.” Then realization dawned. He now had a source of income that did not revolve around cuddling with strangers. He was trying to tell me that he didn’t want to do this anymore. I would be existing alone again.

“I signed on almost two months ago, but couldn’t tell you.” 

Wait, what? This was not headed in the direction I expected.

“As soon as I was offered the contract, I stopped taking new clients. Eventually, the ones I had stopped coming as well.”

“Am I…?” I interrupted, yet couldn’t finish voicing the thought.

“Yeah,” he breathed gently, and the warm puff of air slipped between the loose threads of my shirt and caressed my skin. “You’re the last one.” He looked up at me with large eyes. “You’ve been the only one for a month now. I’m closing the business.” His cheeks turned red then. “But, uh… we can keep doing this, if you want. For free, I mean.”

I’m certain he could hear the high-pitched whine my brain emitted as I tried to process this information.

For a month? I’ve been the only one? He didn’t want to touch me anymore? But wait, he did. And he didn’t want me to pay him. Which meant that—

Suga liked touching me.

Without thinking, my hand slid under his chin, and I placed a gentle kiss to his soft, pale pink lips. When I pulled back, it took a second to realize what I’d just done. I could hardly believe it. I had just kissed Suga. I didn’t even know if he was interested in men, much less in me, and I’d kissed him anyway. I was paying him for comfort, but not the kind of comfort that involved kissing. Kissing was against the rules; rules which had been made very clear to me. Yet I still went and broke them. I had no excuse. Maybe that was why I did it though. He was closing his business, and my subconscious saw this as my last opportunity and decided to act on it. 

A choked gasp left my throat and my limbs flailed out in jerky motions as I tried to scramble out of the bed as fast as possible. Suga was still on top of me, which made my escape more difficult, and I ended up falling halfway off the bed before he grabbed my wrist and hauled me back up.

“I’m sorry, oh god I’m so sorry Suga—” the words came tumbling out of my mouth with no thought behind them.

Fingers dug sharply into my shoulders as he pinned me to the mattress, effectively shutting me up. 

“Did you mean it?” he whispered, voice rough and beautiful mouth set firm. 

I opened my mouth, but no sounds would come out.

He shook me. “Oikawa Tooru, why did you kiss me?” He demanded, steel in his eyes.

I tried again to speak, but only managed a soft breathy wheeze.

I thought he was going to question me more, but instead he slowly leaned down, eyes flitting back and forth between my eyes and my mouth, grip on my shoulders relaxing to give me room to get away if I felt like I needed to. Ever so gently, he pressed those plush, petal-colored lips against my own.

Neither of us moved for what felt like an eternity, yet it was entirely too soon when he pulled away.

“Since you won’t answer, I guess I’ll ask: will you be my boyfriend?” He asked, sounding too breathless for the lack of physical activity. 

My heart sank. Why did he have to ask so soon? I had hoped that neither of us would bring this up. If only I had been able to make it out of his apartment without him catching me. Then I would have only happy memories with Suga, untainted by what was to come.

“I… I can’t. I’m not—” I gestured vaguely, searching for the right word “—boyfriend material. I can’t… do _that_ sort of thing. Can’t even come close. I... It won't work, I'll—” 

Suga pressed a finger to my lips, silencing me.

“You’re asexual, right?” At my shocked look, he laughed softly. Moving his hand so that he was cupping my cheek, he brushed his thumb across the delicate skin under my eye. “I noticed the black ring you always wear. A friend of mine is ace too, and he has one as well.”

Well. That was unexpected. I wore the ring simply as a reminder to myself that I was not as alone as I thought I was. It had never dawned on me that other people would notice it, and also know what it stood for.

“Hey,” Suga whispered, calling my attention back to himself, “it’s ok. I like you. Really like you. For who you are as a person, not for what your body can do for mine.”

“R—really?” 

“Yeah. So, what do you say?” 

I didn’t have to think very long at all before I whispered yes.

Suga smiled and curled back up against my chest, the same as we had been just a few minutes ago. Only, nothing was the same anymore. I noticed the extra affection in the way he brushed his thumb along the thin skin in the crook of my elbow, the way his fingers would linger in my hair, as if desperate to stay wrapped up in it for as long as possible… Then I realized that that was how it had been for a while. Suga had liked me for quite a while, and it was obvious through the way he touched me. I had been so caught up on the fact that I paid for this that I had been blinded to his affection.

“Would you like to stay the night?” He whispered. “I want to cuddle with you longer, but the last train will be running soon. I don't want you to be stuck here if you had wanted to go home.”

I didn’t trust my voice to speak, so I just nodded instead. He must have felt the movement, because he let out a little chuckle and a hushed _“Good.”_

Letting his steady, deep breaths calm my rapidly pounding heart, I wrapped my arms around him tighter than ever before, with no intention of ever letting him go again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so what do you all think about a little sequel from Suga’s POV? I think I’ve already made my mind up about it, but I’d like to know y’alls opinion.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know, either here or on tumblr at theraven4597.
> 
> (Also Philip K. Dick is fantastic, don't listen to Oikawa.)

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love some feedback! You can also find me on Tumblr at Theraven4597.


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